Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1887-08-27
A SERVANT LASSIE.

Ouly Slmple servant ldSSleI eS, Uut
for "a that there will be servant lassies in
heaven just as well as Draw folk. The
poor were never despised by Him when
He was on earth.
Heigho! Ihavena written half dozen
lines O. my story yet, and I'm sadly con-
scious that I've made blunders already.
mean to write it a. in English, and if a
bit Scotch wordie does tumble in moo
and again I'm sure you'll forgie me.
When warm to my work I'll get better
on. This is the way wi a. Scotch folk;
when no excited it's their own broad
Doric they speak, but my conscience, if
you once put up their birse it's as fine
sounding English they'll speak as any
southener that ever stepped in shoe
leather. ~
My name is JEANNE, JEANNE Mclean,
that's it a. thegither, or complete as /
ought to say. From far, far north the
Tweed come, ay, and north the Dee as
we'll. AS far west as the train can pene-
trate among the Donside hills, on a bon
ME braehead, among bonnie green knobs,
among woods O. dark waving fir and
spruce, lighted up here and there wi the
tender green of the feathery larch, and
begirt WI bands O. yellow broom and
gowden furze, these stood my fathers
humble cot. And every night Of my
happy young life / used to be lulled to
sleep by sound like waves breaking on
q shingly beach; for, if it wasn't the
wind whispering and incoming through
the trees, it was the incesaant hurtle o.
the Don rushing on over tho pebbles and
powders. So near were we to the river
that dear Johnnie could throw stone
right over it. A strong, strong arm had
Johnnie. Johnnie was my only brother,
and never had a sister.
My mother died when Johnnie and
were 80 young that neither of us could
remember her, and Grannie kept my
fathers house. Dear auld Grannie, with
her clear caller, canty face, and her busy,
happy ways, it Is years ago since she has
gone to her long hame in the aud kirk
yard. She aye had pleasant smile for
Johnnie and me, and used to tell us old
world stories in the long forenights o
winter. a E
Imagine US, If you can, gathered round
that Scottish country fireside, q great fire
of peats and wood is blazing and cracking
on the hearth--there Is no other light.
At one corner sits my father in an easy
chair, his days toll is past and his pipe
| Is alight; at the other Is auld Grannie,
and click, CLICK. click, click, go her knit
ting wires az she tells her tale, johnnie
and complete the circle; our eyes are
riveted ON Grannie's face. The smoke
| goes curling up the wide chimney, the
blaze sometimes following yards high,
the wind without Is roaring and whist
ling round the house, shaking doors and
dindling windows; but it makes US feel
al the snugger within. just creep
closer to Johnnie, lean my head on his
shoulder, and listen. aH
BY and by Grannie stops speaking. and
for while the wind has it all its own
way; then my father rises solemnly and
| puts his pipe away in the wa -hole.
BARNS, let us worship God" he
says.
Grannie lights the black oil lamp, with
its dried rush wicks, and father takes the
| Book. He reads chapter, then, to the
half mournful notes of some such time
as Martyrdom, we sing, perhaps, 1.-THE
Lords My Shepherd"
There was always plenty to do, and
| Johnnie and / were never sorry when
Sabbath came. Sabbath and a long
walk to the wee bit kirk on the hill head,
! where in earnest and impressive voice cur
| good minister would point the way to
| happier spheres; he never failed to breathe
words of comfort for the weary, consola-
ton for the bereaved, and hopes Of future
joy for all.
Never Sunday passed that Johnnie
and did NOT hnger behind, till all the
| other kirk folk had passed away out and
homewards, then we would 60 quietly
round and visit mothers grave. This
was not all sentiment, both of us loved
mother, though we hardly remembered
seeing her. But her mortal remains were
there in that aud kirkyard, and they
would rise again, such was our simple
faith; and we never looked upon mother
as dead, but as saint in heaven, She
could see US, we thought, nay, might
even be permitted to watch over us, and
lovingly guard and befriend us in trial
and in danger. She saw us each Sab
bath, then, as we bent low and touched
the grassy knoll and laid thereon our Of
ferings Of flowers. Humble enough
these might be, but in spring there were
the sweet scented yellow primrose and
sprigs o. crimson may, in summer there
were always rich buttercups and rich OK
| eyed daisies, and hundred wild flowers
from hedgerow and copse; even winter
brought its garlands of red rowans and
its evergreens, SO all the year round
mothers grave never wanted beauty.
That old churchyard and the wee bit
kirk. I have but to shut my eyes and
they rise up before me. What though
the kirk itself was steepleless, the bell
devoid of music, the grass long and
| green on the graves, and after rain look
ing as though it had been combed down;
what though the tombstones were gray
and lichen clad, and leant in everydirec-
ton except the right one -mother's grave
/ was therei